


Uncloaking

by TheDragonofHouseMormont



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Older Arya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4178988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragonofHouseMormont/pseuds/TheDragonofHouseMormont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The smell of fish and sweat seemed to permeate her very being as she made her way through the wharf and she loved it. Nine days of the Uncloaking had passed and she'd spent all of them training in the House of Black and White. The Faceless Men might live in Braavos, but they did not share the same pride in their city that everyone else did. This was the last day of the festival, she had missed it every year, but this time she was determined to go.</p><p>___<br/>The Uncloaking is an anniversary celebration of the Uncloaking of Uthero, an event that marked the unveiling of Braavos, a ten day celebration in which the people wear masks during the festivities until midnight on the tenth day, when they all remove their masks as one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncloaking

The smell of fish and sweat seemed to permeate her very being as she made her way through the wharf and she loved it. Nine days of the Uncloaking had passed and she'd spent all of them training in the House of Black and White. The Faceless Men might live in Braavos, but they did not share the same pride in their city that everyone else did. This was the last day of the festival, she had missed it every year, but this time she was determined to go. As soon as she had scarfed down dinner, she made her way out of the house easily, off the Isle of Gods, and into the city. Come morning she would be exhausted before training even began, but if what she'd heard about this festival proved true, it would be worth it.

There was a faint irony as she walked past all the masked citizens with the sea air on her face, unimpeded. Hers was a mask they could not detect, for the skin, the nose, the eyes, even the hair were not truly her own; she did not need leather or wood or ceramic to hide among them.

Leaning against a wooden post, she stood still amidst the moving masses. They danced and drank and traded coin for more drink. Her eyes glanced upward at the Titan in the distance, waiting as the minutes ticked slowly by and brought them closer to midnight.

She grew comfortable in the scene, the fish, the drink, the happy people oblivious to her as she all but blended with the shadows in her stillness and silence, until something soft and subtle broke the moment. The hint of ginger and cloves was like an assault, a scent from another land, a memory of autumn that belonged to someone else. Still, the eyes that were not truly her own flicked over the faces in the crowd around her, trying to find the one the scent belonged to. _But that face would not be here_ , she reminded herself, that face was dead and she must surely have imagined the smell.

Despite her assurances, her eyes landed on a figure obscured by the darkness, and she felt positive that underneath his mask of shadows, there were eyes fixed upon her.

The man walked toward her, revealing a face she did not recognize. _Of course not._   He stood less than a foot in front of her and the scent of ginger and cloves surrounded her, drowning out the fish and the salty, sea air. "A man did not expect to see a girl here this late," he said in a voice she did not recognize and a syntax she guessed was chosen for her benefit alone.

"It's been years since I last saw you," was the only response she could think of. "I gave up expecting you a long time ago." But she hadn't, not really. He gave her the coin, he belonged to the Faceless Men, and so every day when someone walked through the black and white doors, she quickly assessed them to see if it was him. The only thing she'd forced herself to give up was the constant disappointment when they never were.

He smiled at her lie, sensing it, and though the face was different, the smile was the same smile she first saw behind the bars of the cart he had been chained to all those years ago. _But those are the memories of a dead girl._ "If that were true," he said. "Then a girl really has become no one." She wondered for a moment if he'd somehow heard her thoughts, but he was only referring to the lie she'd said out loud. "But I do not think it is."

His words woke up a fury inside of her. He'd been gone for years, and the first thing he does upon returning is judge her progress? Her left hand shot up to the side of his cheek, next to his ear, ready to rip off his false face, but something stopped her. She quickly realized it was his hand upon her own false face that had done it, but his hand had landed there with a gentleness that hers lacked.

Distantly she heard the roar of the Titan as midnight fell upon them, felt the fire of the celebration, and heard the cheers of the people, but all those things seemed miles away. He had somehow moved closer without her notice, his false face only a few inches from her own, his scent swallowing her whole. Their hands moved simultaneously, pulling at the flesh that wasn't their own, each removing the mask of the other. When her own mask had finally been lifted, it wasn't the sea air she felt upon her skin, but the biting air of winter she only ever felt in her fur as she dreamed.

"Arya," he whispered, calling her up from the depths.

**Author's Note:**

> I read about the anniversary celebration of the Uncloaking of Uthero in Braavos in The World of Ice and Fire and thought, "Damn, that's symbolic."


End file.
